Shippingitp IV: Flattery Will Get You EVERYWHERE

[Reinholdt]

@ Destro- Wow. You mixed tragedy, sweetness, and creepy all perfectly for this situation. That's going to be hard to top.

Creepy Rabbit attracts Creepy Dirk.

^ I thought it was sweet, too.

[Raistlin1040]

I love David Bowie. You all know that. Also, I felt obligated to do a ship that wasn't Me/Rabbit or Me/(Brandi or Dirk). This is the result.

Andy Warhol: Ghost Warlock/Rabbit

Spoiler

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The Next Andy Warhol! Read the headline of one newspaper. The Ghost laughed, tossing the paper into the shredder, picking up the wastebacket it was deposited in. Wasn't it Warhol himself who had coined the term '15 minutes of fame'? Yes, The Ghost's gallery was getting famous, but it was only a matter of time until his "Modern Art of the Future" was passed over in favor of some other artistic medium. Frankly, The Ghost was happy with that. He was too strange for mainstream media. Dressed in dark sunglasses and a form-fitting pure white suit, his light hair cropped short, his skin pale and his face always a mask of indifference, his nickname derived from his ability to pass as a cartoon ghost. He quite enjoyed the nickname actually, it was amusing to him.

He took the wastebasket, shredded magazines and newspapers inside, and dumped them out on the floor. He bent down, and began to move them around, making a collage, and gluing them with see-through glue. It must've been at least an hour later, he stepped back. He looked down at his work. He laughed at the art, his joke. Inspired by the newpaper headline, one side of the work was a color portrait collage of Warhol's facial profile. The backside was sheet music for the David Bowie song of the same name. The Ghost laughed again. I believe I'll call it Andy Warhol. He said, the obvious name delighting him with its simplicity. Making sure the glue was all set correctly, he gently picked it up, and placed it on the glass near his desk, placing another glass pane ontop, and then sticking it in a bronze holder, creating a display.

The Ghost turned, coming face to face with a young woman in a purple hat. He blinked behind his mirrored sunglasses, though the rest of his face stayed a perfect blank. Hi! The girl said, her eyes wide. Hello. The Ghost replied coolly. You do know visiting hours are over, right? Ended... The Ghost looked at his watch, 1:10AM. Two hours and ten minutes ago. Of course. I wouldn't be here if they weren't. Elaborate. He said mechanically. Well everyone knows you're a reclusive artist, and you don't work or wander when people are viewing your works. So, I figured if I wanted to meet you, I'd need to sneak in when it was closed. Clever girl. Name? Rabbit. Peculiar. Not so much more than The Ghost. True.

The Ghost turned. So, why did you want to see me, exactly? I want to watch you work. Is that so? Well, there's a reason I work when people aren't around. I'll be really quiet, and out of your way, I promise. I just want to see you make something. The Ghost's face twitched down into a small frown. Why exactly should I make something for you? Because I'm your biggest fan. Prove it. Say something only my biggest fan would know. I know your real name is Gary Warlock! Rabbit said cheerily. The Ghost's mouth dropped open, completely stunned. He'd never used his real name, even when doing small-time interviews and selling his work on streetcorners before he was The Ghost. How did you know that? I told you, I'm your fangirl, I know these things.

The Ghost closed his mouth, grabbed a piece of paper, a pencil, and a clipboard. He began to draw. True to her word, Rabbit stayed silent and unmoving. After a short while, The Ghost unclipped his work and handed it to her. It was a very well done sketch of a dystopian spire, made of bone but outlined in cracked glass, resting under a sky with broken holes in it, while robotic skeletons prowled below. And what does my fangirl think of that? He asked, turning away, not really caring about her answer. Ohmigawd I LOVE IT! Rabbit said loudly. The Ghost turned, and was promptly glomped by the fangirl, and kissed on the cheek. Thank you thank you thank you! She said, hugging him tight. After what seemed like ages, Rabbit let The Ghost go. Thank you so much Ghost! Oh, I love Andy Warhol by the way, it's beautiful. I'm sure everyone will love it. Bye! She said, taking her drawing and bounding out of the gallery. A flush of color rose to The Ghost's cheek, turning it a slight red, his mouth twitching into a smile. He looked at his watch. 1:25 AM. Well, if he only got 15 minutes, he supposed, there were worse ways to spend it.

I actually kinda like how it turned out.

[happyturtle]

"Mercy" is 70% written. If you see me on msn tonight, kindly poke me until I finish it, 'kay?

Then after that, the next instalment of Ship Wars, hopefully on New Years Day.

[TwoBitWriter]

@Destro: I wasn't particularly creeped out by it. Like GW, I found it to be rather sweet.

@Raistlin: It's odd, I never pictured GW in that capacity, but now I totally can see it happening.

By the way, I'm officially back, and starting work shortly. Things should be settling down to normal now.

[RabbitHoleLost]

I love David Bowie. You all know that. Also, I felt obligated to do a ship that wasn't Me/Rabbit or Me/(Brandi or Dirk). This is the result.

Andy Warhol: Ghost Warlock/Rabbit

Spoiler

Show

The Next Andy Warhol! Read the headline of one newspaper. The Ghost laughed, tossing the paper into the shredder, picking up the wastebacket it was deposited in. Wasn't it Warhol himself who had coined the term '15 minutes of fame'? Yes, The Ghost's gallery was getting famous, but it was only a matter of time until his "Modern Art of the Future" was passed over in favor of some other artistic medium. Frankly, The Ghost was happy with that. He was too strange for mainstream media. Dressed in dark sunglasses and a form-fitting pure white suit, his light hair cropped short, his skin pale and his face always a mask of indifference, his nickname derived from his ability to pass as a cartoon ghost. He quite enjoyed the nickname actually, it was amusing to him.

He took the wastebasket, shredded magazines and newspapers inside, and dumped them out on the floor. He bent down, and began to move them around, making a collage, and gluing them with see-through glue. It must've been at least an hour later, he stepped back. He looked down at his work. He laughed at the art, his joke. Inspired by the newpaper headline, one side of the work was a color portrait collage of Warhol's facial profile. The backside was sheet music for the David Bowie song of the same name. The Ghost laughed again. I believe I'll call it Andy Warhol. He said, the obvious name delighting him with its simplicity. Making sure the glue was all set correctly, he gently picked it up, and placed it on the glass near his desk, placing another glass pane ontop, and then sticking it in a bronze holder, creating a display.

The Ghost turned, coming face to face with a young woman in a purple hat. He blinked behind his mirrored sunglasses, though the rest of his face stayed a perfect blank. Hi! The girl said, her eyes wide. Hello. The Ghost replied coolly. You do know visiting hours are over, right? Ended... The Ghost looked at his watch, 1:10AM. Two hours and ten minutes ago. Of course. I wouldn't be here if they weren't. Elaborate. He said mechanically. Well everyone knows you're a reclusive artist, and you don't work or wander when people are viewing your works. So, I figured if I wanted to meet you, I'd need to sneak in when it was closed. Clever girl. Name? Rabbit. Peculiar. Not so much more than The Ghost. True.

The Ghost turned. So, why did you want to see me, exactly? I want to watch you work. Is that so? Well, there's a reason I work when people aren't around. I'll be really quiet, and out of your way, I promise. I just want to see you make something. The Ghost's face twitched down into a small frown. Why exactly should I make something for you? Because I'm your biggest fan. Prove it. Say something only my biggest fan would know. I know your real name is Gary Warlock! Rabbit said cheerily. The Ghost's mouth dropped open, completely stunned. He'd never used his real name, even when doing small-time interviews and selling his work on streetcorners before he was The Ghost. How did you know that? I told you, I'm your fangirl, I know these things.

The Ghost closed his mouth, grabbed a piece of paper, a pencil, and a clipboard. He began to draw. True to her word, Rabbit stayed silent and unmoving. After a short while, The Ghost unclipped his work and handed it to her. It was a very well done sketch of a dystopian spire, made of bone but outlined in cracked glass, resting under a sky with broken holes in it, while robotic skeletons prowled below. And what does my fangirl think of that? He asked, turning away, not really caring about her answer. Ohmigawd I LOVE IT! Rabbit said loudly. The Ghost turned, and was promptly glomped by the fangirl, and kissed on the cheek. Thank you thank you thank you! She said, hugging him tight. After what seemed like ages, Rabbit let The Ghost go. Thank you so much Ghost! Oh, I love Andy Warhol by the way, it's beautiful. I'm sure everyone will love it. Bye! She said, taking her drawing and bounding out of the gallery. A flush of color rose to The Ghost's cheek, turning it a slight red, his mouth twitching into a smile. He looked at his watch. 1:25 AM. Well, if he only got 15 minutes, he supposed, there were worse ways to spend it.

I actually kinda like how it turned out.

It made me giggle.
Fangirl ahoy!
>>

[Mordokai]

"Mercy" is 70% written. If you see me on msn tonight, kindly poke me until I finish it, 'kay?

Then after that, the next instalment of Ship Wars, hopefully on New Years Day.

Got the poking stick hot and ready

[ghost_warlock]

I love David Bowie. You all know that. Also, I felt obligated to do a ship that wasn't Me/Rabbit or Me/(Brandi or Dirk). This is the result.

Andy Warhol: Ghost Warlock/Rabbit[spoiler]*snipperoo*

That's twerrific, Raist; I love it! Almost makes me want to dig out my beret and start wearing it again. And, to think, at one point in my life this was actually the direction I was heading...before I lost momentum. This is just like a snapshot of one of my old fantasies about how I'd be as a famous artist.

@Raistlin: It's odd, I never pictured GW in that capacity, but now I totally can see it happening.

Actually, back when I was doing artwork, most of my stuff was either heavily primitivist or incorporated lots of typography. Some blurred the edges... Maybe, if I'm feeling cruel later, I'll post some pictures of my old stuff. Yes, I'm cruel, prepare for crappy artwork:

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Taken the spring of '01 just before I graduated from college (the first time... )

• Some miscellaneous ceramics; can't really tell what any of them are from this shot but maybe it's the thought that counts...
• A piece of the building fell off while I was preparing my show. I grabbed it and included it in my art show. Here's a picture of me posing with the chunk and a buddy of mine who shared the art show with me (some of his graphic design stuff can be seen in the background).
• A wall covered with bad drawings from my various studio classes.
• An example of some typography/oil pastel work. The instructor wanted to know why I didn't scan the whole thing and do the typography digitally. I was like 'oil pastels...on the scanner glass?' r u dumb?
• Behold! Myself with The 3-Legged Great Auk (and some other crap). In case you didn't know, great auks were penguin-like sea birds who lived in Europe but were wiped out by people. Imagine that...
• Myself with my mentor standing with some crappy prints I made. I'm standing by one of my favorite pieces of my work, a mostly-monochrome typography piece somewhat similar to the one my namesake made in Raistlin's story.

Also, I've been working on a fic for days. Days! Now, I'm finally drawing near to being done with it; which is good because today is the day I'd earlier set up as a deadline for myself. Aside from possible interruption by wild dingos¹ or something I hope to get it finished, polished, and posted yet today. I hope you'll all be pleased. Or, failing that, at least disturbed.

¹ Yes, I'm aware that dingos are, essentially, defined by their being wild dogs; thus making the phrase 'wild dingos' a bit self-evident and superfluous. But, I just couldn't resist the use of the adjective 'wild' after discussing primitivist artwork; nor could I resist posting this addendum seeing how I got to use one of my favorite words: superfluous. There, I even got to use it twice, now. Wooooo!

[RabbitHoleLost]

I look forward to it, GW!
Something to read when I get home from work, wooohoooo

[CurlyKitGirl]

And now, good sirs and ladies of the thread I present you with what has come before in:

Definition drabble

Outraged
Accentuate
Domicile
Alienist
Prolix
Dragoon
Ineffable
Golem
Jurisprudence
Definition - by Helgraf
Lothario
Exculpate
Touchstone
Prelapsarian
Remora
Kickshaw
Bifurcate
Simulacrum
Undulant
Wisenheimer
Conciliatory
Videlicet
Scapegrace
Sanguine - by Helgraf

Frieze - originating from "phrygium" and "Phrygia," the name of an ancient country of Asia Minor

Spoiler

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Cybele and Sabazios; Mountain Mother and sky - father – god play for me. Play for me who am your devoted servant through Sekhmet the Ravenger, she whom the ancient Hittites served as their own.
Cybele and Sabazios, though there be conflict rife between you; I beg of they who are mother and father of all that you cast it aside.
Play for me.
Empty words, ancient words swirled through the cavern that is a mind, echoing formlessly as the words unuttered formed a prayer. A prayer for, for something.
Unheard to anyone else a tympanon began to beat a steady rhythm, soft at first but increasing with each recurring beat. Auloi picked up the tempo and wove a piping melody amongst drumming and the pounding of the hoof beats that raced through her mind.
The Phrygian mode of war sang in her body.
Horses screamed and chariots clashed. The drums and tympanon raced fever pitch fast; warriors singing battle hymns to Sekhmet the Scarlet Lady as their sandal – shod feet carried the steadier, underlying beat.
She opened her eyes and walked back to the sister she had beaten and left. What had compelled her to return? She was done, not one to gloat in front of the dying. Not any more.
But why not? She could . . . she could remember a time when she was younger, no, not younger. When she was different. That she had felt something for the one who lay in front of her on the congealed grass, some form of vague dislike perhaps. But that still did not explain why she was here.
The man who had his hands deep in her sister said something to her. Nonsense.
Face blank, movements mechanical she knelt in the blood she had spilt for her Lady and looked at the girl – child. Funny, the child was physically older than she was, yet she didn’t feel that. The muted music whispered around her. A voice called her, asking for something she didn’t know how, or even if she wanted, to give.
But the music told her how.
Mountain Mother, close fast the wounds; sky – father – god, burn away the blood fever with the coldness of the clouds.
Tympanon thundered and auloi wailed as she reached out her sword hand to touch the forehead of the child. Someone far away cried out, but was stopped by the man with bloody hands.
She only graced the fevered head with one cool touch before she stood and left to watch unobserved again from the trees bordering the glade, no longer concerned with what passed within.
The beautiful music, older than civilisations slowed to a still and vanished into the vastness where her once – emotions were.
Pausing once more, before fully entering the woods she turned to face to the wind; and for one precious instant felt the hot, dry breath of the Lady of the Flame, desert scented, before it cooled again to the fresh scent of the forest. A blessing.

[TwoBitWriter]

@GW: I just saw your edit...

Your work is nice... but your long hair really made me lol!

I think seeing you with long hair like that just made my day!

Really, you aren't too bad looking with that look though, I'm just teasing.

[ghost_warlock]

Okay, this took me forever to complete. I hope someone likes it...

Edit: Oh, and it's really long.

I imagine this fic being set at a smallish (~1500-2000 students) private or state college. One where you could walk across campus in, say, 15-minutes or so.

PseudoSynemosyna
Reinholdt/Zarrexaij (also featuring TwoBitWriter)

Spoiler

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Reinholdt stared at his notebook, forced himself to keep his eyes on the paper. It was all he could do to keep from looking at her, stealing glances; always hoping she wouldn’t catch him. He couldn’t let her notice him yet; it would ruin everything.

To the droning of the professor’s lecture the other students were busy scribbling notes. But Reinholdt couldn’t focus on the lesson, couldn’t think about anything but her. He wondered what she was writing, daydreamed about the shape of the letters scrawled by her hand; her thin fingers. Her skin occupied his thoughts and he imagined himself taking her hands in his, touching her fingers to his face.

In his mind, he choreographed how it would go. Her hands in his, he’d run his fingers down her wrists, up her arms, along the sides of her gentle neck, trace the curve of her jaw and lightly take her face his hands. Burying his fingers in her auburn hair, he’d draw her close and they’d lose themselves in each other’s eyes.

“Crap!” he muttered, catching himself staring at her again, just as she started turning toward him. No, no; he wouldn’t allow her to know. It was too soon, he wasn’t ready.

He forced himself again to stare at his notebook, dragged his pencil over the page, making crude shapes barely resembling letters. There wasn’t enough focus in him to make sense of the lecture, let alone transcribe it between the thin, blue lines on the page. She occupied all of his thoughts: this girl was going to be murder on his GPA.

After what seemed like a bleak eternity the professor’s lecture drew to a close. Reinholdt vaguely crammed his notebook into his backpack. Watching her pick up her bag from the floor and put her things away, he caressed the twist in her spine with his eyes. He fidgeted with his cell phone, snapping a quick picture as she stood and left the classroom.

He followed her, trying to blend into the mass of other students making their way to and from their classes. He followed her through the hallways and then outside. He followed her along the sidewalk; pulling his jacket close in the cool January air. Did she live in the dorms or off-campus? Today, he hoped to find out. Staying a fair distance back, but keeping her in sight among the other students traveling the sidewalk, he trailed her.

“Hey, Reinholdt! How’s it going, man?” The suddenness of the booming voice made him jump.

“Um. Fine, fine… What’s new, Twobi?” Reinholdt said to his friend.

“Not much with me. Same old, same old. You alright? Seem kinda jumpy?”

“Yeah, just fine. Just thinking, is all.” Reinholdt said sadly as the girl vanished in the crowd.

“Huh? You just got out of psych or something, right? Gen eds aren’t supposed to get you thinking that hard, man.”

“Er. Sociology, actually. I think. It’s…interesting?”

“Yeah, right! Listen, I took that one last semester. Don’t sweat it, man, just write about Marx or Durkheim when you do the essays. Prof’s all Freudian for those guys and everything comes down to them, anyway. You’ll breeze through it that way.”

“Right.”

“Look, I gotta run. Catch you later…ladies!” Twobi said, clapping him on the shoulder as he left.

“Yeah, yeah. See ya.” Reinholdt sighed, knowing his girl was long gone.

Feeling crestfallen and annoyed, he blew off his next class. Attendance wasn’t mandatory and he could probably get the notes from someone else later.

Back in his dorm room, he flipped through the numerous photos of the girl he’d snapped with his cell phone since the semester had begun. He wasn’t much of a photographer, though, and the pictures had obviously been taken hastily. They were hardly flattering and rarely in focus, leaving him feeling frustrated.

Tossing the cell angrily on his bed, he grabbed his kit and went down the hall for a shave and shower.

In the bathroom, he placed his kit on a narrow shelf above the communal sinks. In one of the sinks he saw something small and black: a spider had fallen into the sink and, although it tried to scurry up the porcelain, it couldn’t climb out.

He shaved, repeating the same step-by-step process ritualistically: right cheek, then left; chin next and finishing up with his upper lip. The feel of the blade on his face was one of the few things that seemed capable of clearing his mind these days. One of the few things he’d found that could cut her out of his thoughts for a time. He admired the subtle efficiency of the razor, how overlooked and underappreciated it was. Like the girl, there was something about the blade that thrilled him.

All the while, the spider watched him with its too-many black eyes, its hairy legs moving ever so slightly every few moments. It was helpless and far too small to harm him in any way, but seemed dangerous and predatory all the same. He imagined it hated him for his freedom, for his small part in contributing to its imprisonment. The spider’s gaze was oppressive, almost tactile, and he wondered if this was how she’d feel if she caught him staring at her. Would that be all he was to her, a spider trapped in a web of some other creature’s design? What would the spider do to him if he let it out of the sink, let it crawl across his skin the way his fingers longed to crawl across hers.

Shuddering, he turned on the hot water and flushed the spider down the drain.

Days passed. That Friday Reinholdt attended a party Twobi invited him to. Just as he arrived at the party, though, Reinholdt spotted her heading out the door. With another, very tall, man.

Watching her leaving, sadly, Reinholdt was joined by Twobi, coming from inside and double-fisting the standard frat-party drink of choice.

“Hey, you came! What’s up?” Twobi asked and then took a drink from one of his beers.

“Oh, um, nothing much,” Reinholdt said, staring after her as she walked along a line of parked cars with the tall man.

Twobi squinted and followed Reinholdt’s gaze. “What? Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for her!”

Reinholdt snapped his attention back towards Twobi. “What? No, I…”

“Seriously, dude. My advice is move on, find someone else. She’s trouble from what I’ve heard.”

“Huh? What have you heard?”

Twobi was dodgy. “Oh, well, nothing much, I guess. Just that she’s, well you know, trouble. Weird. Crazy.”

Even with this, Reinholdt was left with the feeling that, maybe, crazy wasn’t so bad. Not if it was her.

Reinholdt stayed for a while longer. Twobi was, as usual, the life of the party and didn’t have much time to talk. He didn’t even notice when Reinholdt excused himself early.

Class Monday was another struggle, staring at his notebook to hide his obsession. Always hiding. Trying to concentrate on counting specks on the pages just before class ended, he vaguely heard the professor say something about a group project. He remembered something like that being mentioned in the syllabus, but the details escaped him. The noise level in the classroom increased dramatically for a few moments, the buzzing murmur of his classmates partnering themselves up.

Not knowing anyone in the class, Reinholdt looked around, muttering at strangers, doing all he could to keep his eyes from straying in her direction. The more he muttered, the more obvious it became that he was going to be working on this project alone.

Then: “Well, I guess it’s just us, then. Please tell me you understand English. Or at least that you don’t talk like that all the time.”

He froze and turned slowly towards the voice.

She was staring at him, expectantly.

“Um, yeah, I can talk. Yeah,” he said stupidly, instantly disappointed in himself.

“Well, good. That’s a start, I guess. I really didn’t want to learn Mandarin or something just to work on a stupid gen ed project.”

“Ha ha, yeah,” he smiled awkwardly.

She raised an eyebrow, one of the most perfect eyebrows Reinholdt had ever seen. “Did you just say ‘ha ha?’ Whatever, let’s just try to get through this. My name’s Zarrexaij. And before you make any dumb jokes or comments, yes, I know it’s a strange name, a strange name for a girl indeed. Can we skip that bit and just pretend you’re over it already?”

“Um, yeah, yeah. Sure thing, whatever you say. I’m Reinholdt.”

“Well, I hope it’ll be nice meeting you, Reinholdt.”

“I hope so, too,” he said.

She smiled, thinly. He wondered what she was thinking, what she thought of him. He felt like a complete dope. Realizing he was staring at her dumbly, he turned his eyes again to his notebook.

“Well,” she asked, “Any thoughts on what to do with this project?”

He chanced a glance at her. “Um. A friend of mine who took this course last semester suggested that I just stick to Marx or Durkheim.”

She frowned. “You…really weren’t listening to the professor when he described the project, were you? He’s so sick of people doing Marx and Durkheim that he’s ‘expressly forbidding’ us to use them for the project.”

“Oh. Crap.”

“Well, looks like it’s up to me to come up with something and save the day. Your grade, too, it looks like. What do you think about Weber?”

Reinholdt scoured his memory. “Uh, Weber…Max Weber. German, right?”

She nodded.

“Sure thing, sounds like an interesting guy. I guess.”

“Good. Okay, I guess I’ll see you Wednesday, then.” She turned back to her desk and started packing her things, other students hurrying from the classroom.

“Wait,” he said and she turned back. “Um, I swear this isn’t a dumb joke or anything like that, but…how do you spell your name? It’s just that…I…I’m curious, I guess.”

She frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged and told him. With that, she left.

He slipped his notebook, with her name written in it, lovingly into his backpack. He left the classroom humming happily to himself.

Wednesday. Zarrexaij and Reinholdt’s class met at the college library, the professor expecting them to research their project while he took the hour off. Reinholdt waited at the doors and searched the stacks but, to his disappointment, Zarrexaij was a no-show.

Dejected, Reinholdt went through the motions of collecting a few books relating to the project. Then, he found a secluded spot on the third floor where he sat and flipped half-heartedly through the pages.

‘So many words, so little desire to actually read any of them,’ he thought.

Eventually, he gave up on doing any real research. He flipped to the back of his notebook and began to doodle on the inside cover.

When he’d finished his drawing, he gazed at it for a few moments before snapping the notebook closed and shoving it into his backpack. The rest of the day, he continually wondered where she’d been.

She made it to class on Friday, smiling at him vaguely before taking her seat and ignoring him for the entirety of the lecture.

He stared at her, trying to seem more angry than infatuated; trying to get her to feel his eyes on her the way he’d felt the eyes of that spider in the sink. After so much time hiding, his thoughts screamed in her direction: ‘look at me, look at me!’ But she seemed impervious, seemed to completely forget he was even there.

As class ended and the other students started to leave, though, she turned to him.

“Sorry I ditched you on Wednesday. I got caught up in something and didn’t have a number to reach you.”

“Yeah, it’s alright, that’s okay,” he grumbled, not really meaning it.

She sighed and, then, smiled. “Look, what are you doing tonight? Maybe I can make it up to you.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Maybe we can get together after dinner, look over our notes and try to figure something out. You got the books from the library, right?”

He nodded, still a bit annoyed but thrilled by the idea of spending more time with her. “Yeah, I got them. And I…don’t really have any plans for tonight. I suppose we could get together for a while.”

“Great! Okay, meet me by the main campus computer lab, say, eight-ish? Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’ll work fine.”

“Good, then I’ll see you later. And I promise I won’t stand you up this time!”

He smiled and nodded slowly as she left.

The rest of the day dragged by and, when it finally came time to meet her, it was all he could do to keep himself from literally running from his dorm to the computer lab. Even with his attempt at restraint he ended up arriving a few minutes early. To his surprise, she was already there; waiting for him inside, just outside the lab.

“Did you bring the books?” she asked as he approached.

“Yeah, in my backpack,” he replied.

“Good. Look, it’s a bit crowded in there. What do you say we go out for a while and come back when we’ll have room to spread out?”

Looking through the window, over her shoulder, he could see there were a number of people working on computers inside, but there were still several vacant stations. However, he wasn’t about to argue with possibly spending some private time with her.

“Sure thing, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, I just got a new car the other day; that’s what I was doing when we were supposed to meet at the library. Wanna go for a ride?”

He could hardly believe his luck. “Heck, yeah, let’s go!”

He followed her out of the building and across the street to the parking lot. He followed her over to a dark, greenish Buick. She unlocked the doors and they climbed inside. It was roomier than he’d first expected, the passenger seat pushed far back from the dash. He thought, briefly, of the tall man he’d seen her leaving the party with the previous weekend.

“So, anywhere in particular you want to go?” She asked, grabbing his attention.

“Nah, maybe just cruise around?”

She smiled. “I think I have an idea. There’s a place I think I’d like to show you.”

She started the engine and threw the car in gear. Pulling out of the parking lot, she drove for a ways through the streets and headed for the highway.

“Music?” She asked.

Happy to just be this close to her, he smiled and said, “Whatever.”

“Okay. I think I know a good song for a car ride.”

She turned on the CD played and skipped ahead to the track she wanted, cranking the volume. They listened to the song.

When the song finished, she turned the volume down some and set the CD player to shuffle.

As she drove on, silent, he felt the urge to talk to her but realized he had no idea what to say. He cycled through a dozen questions, deciding they all sounded stupid, before one finally slipped out.

“So…uh…what’s your major?”

She glanced at him, seeming almost annoyed he’d broken the silence. “Biology.”

“Oh, that’s cool. You’re into animals and stuff, then?”

“Pre-med, actually. People fascinate me,” she replied.

“Oh.” He fidgeted in his seat, pulling his jacket free of the seatbelt. In the process, he spied something shiny on the floor, barely visible between the seat and the door. He reached down and picked it up.

By the lights in the dashboard, he looked at the object. It was a small, golden nametag. He turned it around to read the lettering. There was a small hotel logo to the side of the faceplate.

“Ghost Warlock,” he read, “Night auditor. Huh?” He looked over at her.

She looked puzzled, then annoyed. “Must have been from the previous owner, I bought the car used and I haven’t had a chance to completely clean it out, yet.”

“Hm. What do you want me to do with it?”

She shrugged.

He placed it in the ashtray beneath the dash.

She flashed him a quick smile. “Almost there,” she said.

“No rush.”

He sat quietly for a few more minutes, watching the scenery in the dark and sneaking glances at her every so often. He couldn’t believe his situation, how amazing it was to be alone, so close, to her. In his estimation, this night was rapidly becoming the best night of his life.

“Here,” she said, pulling the car off the highway, down a narrow, snow-choked gravel road and, then, into a neglected driveway leading up to an ancient, obviously abandoned house. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Gazing at the house, lit by the headlights, he hesitantly muttered, “Uh, sure? It’s very…vacant?”

She seemed elated. “I come here, sometimes, for solitude. It’s quiet and nobody ever comes out this way. I can be completely alone.”

“That’s…” he started.

“Here, come inside with me,” she said, pulling a flashlight from under her seat and opening her door.

“Is…is it safe? Looks condemned…”

She stepped out of the car. “Oh, c’mon, live a little!” She rolled her eyes. Then, less harshly, she said: “Yes, it’s fine. I’ve been here before. Don’t you trust me?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Not wanting to seem like a scared jerk, he swung his door open and climbed out of the car. He followed her up to the house.

He held the flashlight for her while she forced open the front door, obviously having done so before.

They stepped into house and he swept the flashlight beam around the room. It was mostly empty, cobwebs choking all of the corners and even the doorways leading to other rooms. In the dark, he could feel long-forgotten spider webs brushing his hair. He’d heard, once, that some scientists had made an estimation that you could never get more than two feet away from a spider. They lived all over the world, in every climate and even under water, using their webbing to trap breathable air.

He remembered the spider he’d found in the sink, remembered the way it had stared at him. Here, in the dark, he considered the scientists’ estimation and realized he believed it.

This house hadn’t been abandoned; not by spiders, anyway. No, there had to be spiders everywhere in this room, hundreds in this house. And they were angrily watching him tresspass into their home. Watching with black, ever-staring eyes.

“Look, I…” He muttered, taking a step back and shuddering.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, turning towards him. He froze, ambivalent. He wanted to reach out, touch her. But he hated this house, wanted to get far, far away from here.

“I…it’s just that…they…” he stuttered.

She reached out, took one his hands. Shocked, he dropped the flashlight and it landed with a muffled crack. Built sturdy, it rolled a bit but continued shining. He kept his eyes on her, not wanting to see the floor or the things that may be scuttling there.

“Don’t you want to see why I brought you here?” She asked gently, lifting his fingers to her lips.

Torn between his desire for her and the terror this place filled him with, he sputtered. “I…I just…”

She touched his palm to her cheek, ran his hand down the side of her neck. Smiling at him, she stepped closer. Slipping a hand behind his head, ruffling his hair, she pulled his face down towards hers. Her breath was warm and sweet.

Their lips brushed lightly. Then, she pulled him into a soft, lasting kiss. She nibbled on his lower lip, holding it firmly between her lips for a few seconds.

And then she let go of him, stepped back.

“I…that…”

The headlights shining from outside through the doorway illuminated her face. She was grinning broadly, something dark running down her chin from her lips. She wiped it away with a finger, then licked her finger clean.

“What…you…?” he stammered. His whole face was suddenly itching, his lips numbing. He raised a hand to his face, felt his lips. Sticky, wet, ragged. He pulled his fingers away and looked at them in the light. Blood. She’d bitten his lip so hard it was bleeding, and she’d done it with him hardly even feeling the bite.

“How…”

“Ssh, now. It’ll be over soon. The venom should be entering your brain by now.” Her smile was stained red with his blood.

Feeling weak, dizzy, he took a step backwards and ran into the doorframe. His legs gave out and he slid to the floor. In seconds he was completely paralyzed.

She walked over and pushed him over onto his side, rolled him onto his back. Taking his hands, she dragged him across the floor, back further into the house. She opened a door, thick with cobwebs, and carefully slid him down the rickety stairs into the basement. Once he was securely at the bottom of the stairs, she left him and headed back up to the entryway.

He heard the car engine shut off and it was suddenly completely black in the basement. He was completely alone in the darkness. His whole body itched, now, as if he was being crawled over by thousands of tiny, hairy spider legs.

But she didn’t leave him alone for long. Guided by the flashlight, she walked back down the stairs. Smiling at him, she set the flashlight down on the bare concrete floor. The walls and ceiling were lined with more thick spider webs. They covered almost every inch of the basement.

His heart pounded as she pushed him over next to one of the walls, the cobwebs hanging down in his face.

Taking off her jacket, she laid it aside and then pulled off her shirt. A pair of withered, bristly limbs unfolded from her chest. Her eyebrows each split long-wise down the center, revealing another set of dark, round eyes. Spider eyes.

Rolling him over and over with her ‘normal’ arms, she set to work wrapping his feet and legs in webbing with the shrunken limbs on her chest; her spinnerets disguised as her navel.

Pausing briefly in her task, she removed his wallet, cell phone, and few other personal effects from his jeans pockets. She slipped off his shirt, baring his chest. Then, she continued encasing him in a tomb of webbing.

He couldn’t even scream his horror as she began to wrap her webbing around his head and face, paying no mind when some of the sticky strands got in his gaping mouth. The entire process took several minutes and, when finished, she left only his nose uncovered. The rest of him she wrapped several times over with the ropy fibers. With a pair of fingers, she jabbed a hole in the webbing over his abdomen, exposing a few inches of his skin. She’d later use this window in the cocoon to inject more venom, which would slowly kill him and turn his internal organs into a nutritious, soupy goop.

Her prey secure, she inspected her handiwork. His breathing was quick but slowing as her venom lulled him into a deep sleep from which he would never awaken. He was just barely conscious though, she knew, when she leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his exposed nose.

“Sweet dreams, Reinholdt,” she said with a laugh.

With that, she drew back and turned her attention to the things she’d removed from his pockets. She slipped his wallet into her coat pocket for disposal later then flipped open his cell phone. More bemused than angry, she cycled through the various pictures he’d taken of her before she hurled the cell across the room fiercely, smashing it against a far wall.

Finished here, she folded her shrunken limbs back across her chest and pulled her shirt on, then her jacket. Scooping up the flashlight, she went upstairs and left him in the dark.

The car starting again was the last thing he heard before falling into a final sleep, his dreams filled with biting, black-eyed spiders.

Behind the Curtain (Notes & Spoilers)

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Synemosyna is a genus of about 19 species of jumping spiders who make their living by mimicking ants. They live mostly in South America and Mexico, but a couple species are native to the U.S.A. They've evolved an uncanny resemblance to their prey, as you can see here. This isn't the only genus of spiders to pull this trick, however, and several different critters of other types make their living by pretending to be members of their prey species. I imagine that, given time and the right conditions, it shouldn't be unexpected that a species should evolve to prey on humans in a similar way, since we've become so complacent in our 'knowledge' that we're at the top of the food-chain.

@Reinholdt: Since the idea for this fic has been brewing in my mind for quite some time now, I was actually a bit annoyed when I (lurking) read about how your ACRONYM namesake died recently at the hands of one of Draken's minions (or whatever that was). I considered casting someone else for the part to avoid appearances of plagiarism, but some elements in the story just seemed to work so well with you playing the role... Not that I think you're some kind of socially-inept stalker or anything. >> << No, seriously, you're awesome and I just had to include you here in this massive, time-consuming project.

@RawrZarre: Yes, you totally ate me and stole my car. I hope you're happy with yourself.

Feedback, please?

[I are Fanfic]

an average day

starring roland st. jude

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scrubbed

[Reinholdt]

@ Raist- Heh. I liked it. Even if Creepy Rabbit is a stalker. GW is kind of hard to read, though. Might consider a different color.

@ Curly- Hey, this seems long for you. But it was unexpectedly moving. Well done.

@ GW- Shy Reinholdt is shy and quiet as usual. And now he's stalking and picture taking... . Accursed party goer TwoBit! Correction. Accursed parties! Never did like them. Group projects. Oh how I loathed them. Pairing up pretty much happened just as described, except the very end.
*ponders* Hmmm... Who's stalking whom?
Ok. Tags of someone named Ghost Warlock? *slaps fictional me in the back of the head* Don't you watch horror?
Spiders... why'd it have to be spiders? *shudders* ((There's only a few things I dislike more than spiders, but I'm not giving any of you fuel to use against me.))
And there goes the fatal kiss...

Creepy... Wow GW. That build up was perfect. I wish I could be shipped by you more often. It was GREAT.
Never trust a girl who likes pyramid head. It's just not safe.
((In case you didn't notice, I usually write comments and read the story roughly at the same time, especially for long ones.))

Heh. Yeah, I could see how getting eaten inside out by bugs was bad timing for you GW. And you're right. I pretty much do fit the character to a large extent.
I HATE bugs!

[Draken]

Did you already hate bugs before the little scene with Herald Rasskhazz? Or was that just creepy enough?

Anyway: Yay. Helped inspire a creepy ship. I can go back to lurking now.

*lurks*

[Reinholdt]

Did you already hate bugs before the little scene with Herald Rasskhazz? Or was that just creepy enough?

Anyway: Yay. Helped inspire a creepy ship. I can go back to lurking now.

*lurks*

Before hand. Never did like them.

I've always believed that the smaller the dangerous force is, the scarier/creepier it is.

[TwoBitWriter]

I posted a small little intro a while back called The Brigand of the Border Collie.

Well... here is Part 2. I have the entire thing written out, but it is about 4500 words so I am just going to do it piecemeal.

The Brigand of the Border Collie, Part 2

Part 1

Starring: Destro Yersul, Wolfbane, Reinholdt, Cameos by Mauve Shirt and Happyturtle
Mentions: RabbitHoleLost

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"Reinholdt, is The Border Collie ready?" Destro whispered to his would-be executioner.

"Aye captain, she is hidden behind the rock wall directly South of this rickety atrocity. Mauve Shirt really outdid herself today, navigating the reef as she did." Reinholdt, Destro's first mate and The Border Collie's strongman, replied.

"Executioner? What are you waiting for?" Wolfbane called from below. He was sweating heavily from the Caribbean heat, the fact that he had an exquisite taste in overdressing didn't help much either. He was the typical French gentleman dandy.

"He is just giving me my last rites is all. He will be ready to give me the big push any moment now," Destro called back.

Reinholdt slapped Destro harshly on the back. "Silence you pirate dog!" He cried out.

Wolfbane and the crew on Le Petite laughed.

"What in the name of Poseidon was that for?" Destro whispered fiercely.

"Just putting on a good show," Reinholdt replied.

"Isn't it about time we made our dramatic exit?" Destro asked.

Reinholdt pulled a whistle from a belt pouch and held it before the captain's face. "Way ahead of you, captain."

With a deep breath and a firm exhale Destro blew on the whistle. The shrill sound emitted made the men on the deck below shirk. The sound echoed off the rock wall of the bay. The French below glanced about nervously. Wolfbane's ears were being covered by one of the sailors, so he remained unfazed.

Destro peered ahead, searching for a sign of The Border Collie, a ship he had won in a game of chance four years back.

The noose around Destro's neck fell limp. Reinholdt had cut the rope with his belt knife. "Thank you, that noose was getting too comfortable with my neck," Destro said.

"Anytime, now, we may wish to make good our escape," Reinholdt said, pointing down at the French below.

Below them, Wolfbane pushed the servant covering his ears aside and shouted, "The prisoner is trying to escape you fools! Shoot him men! Shoot him!"

Destro was fluent in French, else he would have had more difficulty wooing Wolfbane' daughter, RabbitHoleLost. So he knew what was coming. "Quick Reinholdt, we have to get into the water!"

Reinholdt nodded and the two of them started balancing their way across the mast and towards the open ocean, intent on diving into the cool water.

The crew of Le Petite pointed their pistols and muskets towards Reinholdt and Destro.

"Fire!" Wolfbane shouted.

The motley assemblage of weapons opened fire and thick white smoke billowed across the deck. Lead balls struck the ropes, sails, and mast around the two pirates.

Destro felt the hot lead whistle by his ears and his whole body froze just as the reached the end of the mast. He now stood overlooking open sea.

Reinholdt, unfazed by the volley, was looking down and not forward. He slammed into Destro and grunted fiercely.

Destro fell forward off of the mast and plummeted towards the sea. "Reinholdt, you big-" Destro managed to scream out before the briny sea swallowed his swearing.

After rising to catch his breath, Destro was showered more by Reinholdt's own descent into the waves. "You big scurvy-ridden oaf!" Destro cried. Reinholdt was still under the water and couldn't hear Destro, but saying it made Destro feel better anyhow.

"Fire at them you fools, don't let them get away!" Wolfbane cried from atop Le Petite.

More lead balls peppered the sea around the two pirates. Destro dove under the water and started frantically swimming towards the open water. More balls filled the ocean as they made their escape.

Destro had to raise above the water's surface again to breathe.

"Turn the ship about you nincompoops! Run them down!" Wolfbane called.

"Where is that bloody ship, Reinholdt?" Destro yelled.

"She should... there she is captain!" Reinholdt called.

The Border Collie had sailed out into the open, her broadsides festooned with cannon.

Destro heard Wolfbane shriek from atop Le Petite. He smiled and started swimming towards the Border Collie.

"Captain! Are you alright?" Happyturtle called from onboard the Collie.

"Waterlogged but okay! Now open fire!"

The cannons blasted forth their deadly payload. The sounding of the guns rippled through Destro, making him shudder. It was a good shudder, the vibration of cannon fire was what truly made Destro feel alive inside.

The Border Collie had crossed Le Petite's T and the hapless French vessel could do nothing to retaliate. The iron balls sailed towards the ship. They slammed into the wooden hull, sending wooden planks flying. Wolfbane and the crew fell to the deck, trying to avoid the flying debris.

The crew aboard La Provence were quick to note the cannon fire and started running to action, preparing their ship for battle.

A second volley from the Border Collie ripped through the mainmast and sent the towering pole, and its attached sail, plummeting into the sea. Destro cheered watching the French ship being crippled.

"That's enough for now boys. That ship has nothing to offer in the ways of plunder," Destro called out

The firing stopped and a longboat was launched to bring Destro and Reinholdt back aboard.

"Hurry now lads! The Provence is going to give chase us chase," Destro said, climbing on board the small rowboat.

Destro and Reinholdt each grabbed an oar and started rowing towards the Border Collie as fast as they could. Destro glanced behind him to check on the Provence.

The ship had pulled up its anchor and was slowly unfurling her sails. A small boat was transporting Wolfbane towards the other ship.

"Looks like they aren't going to give up so easily," Destro mumbled. He would miss RabbitHoleLost, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He would have to return to Martinique at another date.

The longboat was raised and Destro jumped on deck of his beloved ship. The crew on board cheered the return of their captain and promptly returned to work.

"What are your orders, captain?" The ship's pilot, Mauve Shirt, asked.

"Turn us portside and let the wind carry us away. Wolfbane won't give me up easily. I think that with some good seamanship and the help of a fine crew, we can turn the tables here," Destro said with a slap on the helmsman, Happyturtle’s shoulders.

The Border Collie turned towards the open sea. The sailed furled outwards as the strong winds blew into them. It was a fast ship but Destro knew that he had to get a good lead to escape from La Provence.

[Reinholdt]

Heh. That was good TwoBit. Another typical me in that you can have a hard time telling which side I'm on til it's too late.

I'm in a pirate crew with a bunch of cool people! Yay!

[ghost_warlock]

I posted a small little intro a while back called The Brigand of the Border Collie.

Well... here is Part 2. I have the entire thing written out, but it is about 4500 words so I am just going to do it piecemeal.

The Brigand of the Border Collie, Part 2

Part 1

Starring: Destro Yersul, Wolfbane, Reinholdt, Cameos by Mauve Shirt and Happyturtle
Mentions: RabbitHoleLost

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*snip-snippity snip-snippity snip-snip-eroo*

*sniffle*
It...It's everything I've dreamed of and more...

[Gir] I love this show ship. [/Gir]

And I've even got a somewhat-relevant picture of Reinholdt for this fic!

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And one for RHL!

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Or, should I say ArrRHL?

Did you already hate bugs before the little scene with Herald Rasskhazz? Or was that just creepy enough?

Anyway: Yay. Helped inspire a creepy ship. I can go back to lurking now.

*lurks*

Weeeeeeeell, not so much inspired as ninja'd, but I'm sure something from yours eventually made it into my subconscious for my final draft.

[Dragonrider]

Okay, this took me forever to complete. I hope someone likes it...

Edit: Oh, and it's really long.

I imagine this fic being set at a smallish (~1500-2000 students) private or state college. One where you could walk across campus in, say, 15-minutes or so.

PseudoSynemosyna
Reinholdt/Zarrexaij (also featuring TwoBitWriter)

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*snip*

That was really. Really. Awesome.

It reminded me a bit of that one episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Xander gets a crush on the subsitute teacher who turns out to be a giant praying mantis.

[CurlyKitGirl]

@ Curly- Hey, this seems long for you. But it was unexpectedly moving. Well done.

I've been absent from this series for five days; hence it being five hundred words long. And all the gods, their vocatives, the instruments and pretty much everything that is recognisable is based on actual historical facts/mythical beliefs.

Shadow/Drider [father/daughter]:

A Scream In the Night

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It was a grey room, cluttered, but immeasurably empty nonetheless. The sole occupant gazed at the, counting and recounting the bricks he could see through the broken plaster now slumping tiredly on the floor. Eight in the first row, nine next, seven, four, two rows of six and a final nine. Fifty - eight all in all.
He had been briefly amused when a small spider wove a web up in the corner near the ceiling; and he'd seen it dissolve into dissicated old silk.
Sometimes he counted the few floorboards he could make out from his view point. Four.
This was his world. Four walls, a ceiling, a floor, a window through which the sun shone, four floorboards and fifty - eight bricks. He could see nothing else. Had seen nothing else for so long. All he could hear was the sound of falling dust, all he could smell was the scent of dust - older than ages. A quiet, noiseless passing of time and the faintest whisper of grit settling on the floor. His mind was dying from the sensory deprivation.
He looked out at his dusty prison cell, seeing the decay of centuries through an insomniacs' eyes and mourned. He wanted to wipe the dust off his face, but could not move even to do that. He wanted to cry, and was unable.
He could not protect her.
No, he would not go there; if he fell into that sucking black hole he knew, intuitively, that he would never come back; lost to overwhelming grief and self - hatred.
They had been having a trip out to their forest. The one he'd given her as a birthday gift, it was a soft and gentle place. With hidden secrets and rarities nestled deep within. Just like her. Drider. His little girl
It was so long since he'd last seen her smile. A little wry and always so loving. And her eyes and mouth would laugh so often. The most perfect diamond in the world was nothing but a lump of coal compared to her eyes.
Her smile was enormous and perfect, but nowhere near as big as her heart. She truly would have given away her last crust of bread even if she were starving.
How could they have done that to a little girl? They -
No. Don't think about her - her blood and the end of her enchanting smiles and generous heart.
Her loss drained the world away from him, left him trapped in this ensorcelled cell where he was even losing his self.
It was so quiet, he could have heard his heart beat. If it was able to beat. It should have shattered when he found her broken body. It had.
He had died along with her and this was his living hell, trapped frozen in what had been a heavenly picture.
He wanted to die properly now. The black periods of unconciousness were more frequent now, perhaps that meant he would. They seemed longer too, he couldn't rely on the barred sun marching across the floor to measure out his emprisonment any more. He never knew how long he was unconcious.
But most of all he wanted to be able to scream out his grief, his anger, his everything so someone at least could know that somewhere a man mourned for the little girl he'd taken in and raised as his own.
But instead painted eyes of agony were locked in a calm face of a statuesque lord in a woods, all bordered by a delicate gilt frame hung on a wall.
Unable to do anything.

[TwoBitWriter]

Very good Curly. As always, your ship-writing talents are unsurpassed.

[Thufir]

@ Destro- Wow. You mixed tragedy, sweetness, and creepy all perfectly for this situation. That's going to be hard to top.

Indeed. That's 3/4 of the main appeals of the shipping thread. You're only missing hilarious.

Other stuff is good too.

[Dragonrider]

I dies a sad death.

I love how you're able to write sad fics without slipping into wangstiness. 'tis beautiful.

[RabbitHoleLost]

Curly 1: Ooo, I do so love these drabbles. I find it amusing that Rabbit is the older sister in these series... and the entire twist in general.
Amazing

GW:
I...uh...um. Wow. As if Zarre wasn't already damned sexy, you had to go and cast in her one of my..er... Well, I like dangerous women
Amazingly clever.
Perfectly creepy, and leaves me feeling all creepy-crawly on mah skin.
Rabbit Approves.

Twobi: Arrr. Rabbit gettin' seduced by a pirate Des.
Fwee!

Curly 2:
:: sniffles::
:: cries::

[happyturtle]

Many thanks to Mordokai for the co-writing assist on a couple of problematic parts, but mostly for coming up with the original idea. This was definitely the most challenging ship I've yet written, and I almost scrapped it several times.

Mercy a Redemption fic
Mordokai/Happyturtle and introducing Cristo

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A week passed. Four more prisoners were tortured to death in Turtle's presence. Another captured soldier of Nil's army, two deserters who didn't want to fight in this evil war, and a peasant who was suspected of passing information to the enemy.

Mordokai made no objection to her being armed, though his guards did. Always it was a macabre menage a trois, Mordokai, Turtle, and the victim. She could have struck him down. He even seemed to invite opportunities for her to attack.

If he dies now, he is damned. So she let him live, though she hated herself for it. Was it really for the sake of his redemption that she spared him? Or was it simply her own obsession with him that made her unwilling? By saving him, she was condemning so many to suffering and death. Was his soul worth more than their lives?

She doubted. She prayed. And in the end, her reason was no more than this: I told him I would not give up on him. So I will not.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the latest victim, as she placed the last spadeful of dirt in place over his grave.

"Did you bury the others too?" a familiar voice said. She turned to see Mordokai watching her, a cruel smirk on his face.

"Yes, my Lord," she answered.

"A lot of work for something that could as easily feed the dogs. It isn't as if it matters to them."

"It matters to me."

"It spares them not one iota of suffering in life."

"You could spare them. Show them mercy. At least give them a clean death."

His expression darkened. "I won't. This is who I am now, barbarian. Accept it."

She turned back to the grave, kissed her hand, and placed the kissed fingers against the mound of dirt. "Be at peace," she murmured.

She stood and walked towards Mordokai, stopping with less than a handsbreath separating their bodies. "I forgive you."

"You forgive me? After everything I've done?"

"I was forgiven for worse," she says.

"But to forgive me. So soon..." He looked at her earnestly, and then laughed. "That's remarkable. You really are a slave to your beliefs, aren't you?"

She didn't reply, but he could see by her stricken expression that he'd wounded her. He was glad of it. He felt sure that he could make her see the truth before long. It would hurt her far less in the long run if she gave up her delusions about goodness and redemption.

***

The next day, there was a skirmish at the village of Shar, with Mordokai's troops surprising a small mustering of local men who had been preparing to leave for Nil's encampment. Badly outnumbered, the locals had been forced to surrender. More prisoners for Mordokai to torture, Turtle thought. More men for me to bury.

Mordokai cleared the village church for his personal use. Below the building, among the crypts, was a fully equipped torture chamber--a relic of the inquisition that had only been fully done away with early in the reign of Mordokai the Merciful.

He made Turtle come with him to explore it. Most of the tools were a mystery to him. "You probably know how to use all if it, don't you?"

"To my shame, I do," she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Teach me."

Turtle chuckled mirthlessly. "Do you know why I was so good at what I did? Do you know how the very best torturers are trained? They experience it. The man who trained me was a skilled healer. He tortured me to the brink of death more times than I can count. I haven't just used these tools. I've felt them."

"Are you proposing what I think you are, barbarian?"

"No. You couldn't take it," she said, but instantly regretted the words. They sounded like a challenge, when she had meant them as a simple statement of fact.

"What makes you so sure? Do I look like a weakling to you?"

"Not at all. You're strong. Healthy. I could keep you alive a long time, longer than most victims. Extend the suffering."

"Isn't that a good thing? For a torturer, at least."

"If you knew something I wanted to know, then that would be a very good thing. No, what you couldn't handle would be the loss of control. You'd tell me to stop. And since the only thing I want from you can't be extracted by torture, I would. Except that I'd never have started in the first place. I wouldn't do it. No matter how much you deserve it."

The last sentence was uttered in a tone of hostility. Possibly even of hatred. She's close. I could just push her a little more.

He leaned close. "If you won't show me, I'll just have to teach myself. At least I have plenty of prisoners to practice on."

She drew in a deep breath. "You can't manipulate me that way. If I show you anything, you'll just use it to torture them more effectively."

"You're not the only person here who knows this business."

She knew this was true. Mangosta wouldn't scruple to do a demonstration for the Blackguard's benefit, as long as he was paid for it.

He ran his fingers gently through her hair. "Do it, and I'll set the prisoners free," he whispered.

He'd hit on the only inducement that could make her waver. But still she hesitated. "How can I believe that?"

"I may not be a paladin anymore, but my word still counts for something. Or did I ever go back on it?"

"You never used to do a lot of things. No, you'll have to free them first."

***

Mordokai arrived when the prisoners had been gathered in the town square. "You are free to go. I suggest you run fast. Nil's camp is that way, if you're fast enough, you may get there in two days." He smirked. "Tell him 'Mordokai the Merciful' sent you."

Turtle watched them go, whispering a prayer for their safety, until long after the last man had disappeared from sight into the thick woods. There was no pursuit. She began to realize that it wasn't a ruse. He'd really released them.

She turned to Mordokai and a hard look came over her face. "If we do this, no one interferes. This is between you and me."

Mordokai made the arrangements. By agreement, the door was barred until dawn, with the members Mordokai's personal guard given strict orders that no one was to interfere no matter what they heard. They saw the dread on Turtle's face and drew their own conclusions, gleeful at the thought that the barbarian witch was finally being dealt with. If Mordokai died under torture, she knew her own death would soon follow. But he wouldn't die. She knew her business too well.

Mordokai had one advantage over the typical torture subject. He knew when the pain would end. I can hold out until dawn. This thought sustained him for a while. But as hours passed, he slipped into a timeless haze where nothing existed but the pain and the woman who quietly and brutally adminstered it.

Whenever he was able to focus, he kept his eyes fixed on her, though it was not always Turtle that he saw. Sometimes it was his mother. Sometimes Rabbit. Sometimes--terrifyingly--it was Sune herself, come to exact divine retribution for his betrayal. But most often, it was Flora that he saw, Flora who punished him. Flora who broke down once, whispering to him, "Enough. Let me stop now, please my Lord." He looked into her eyes, swimming in tears. "Not yet."

The worst for Turtle was how much she enjoyed it. How much she wanted to hurt him. To make him pay for his sadism. For his war. For what he'd done to the dryad. But most of all for his betrayal. For proving that he wasn't incorruptible after all. For betraying his own beliefs. For making her doubt her own.

She knew with the instincts of one who had spent most of her life out of doors when the dawn approached. She took him down from the strappado at last, though he weakly objected. "Finished so soon?"

She laid him on a table, and in a final act of torment, forced his dislocated shoulders back into place. It was all she could do for him. The torn ligaments she left for the healer, along with the cuts, bruises, and burns. She hadn't been able to bring herself to break any bones or cause any internal injuries. Perhaps she should have, as the prolonged healing time might have slowed the march to war, but it was more than she was willing to inflict.

She kissed him softly on the forehead and unbarred the door. Cristo, who was the only one who had known what was really going on in the chamber, rushed in. Turtle heard him begin a profane prayer to the dark gods she used to serve.

What a sacrifice you gave them today, a voice inside her sneered. She disregarded it. The voices would be silenced soon enough.

When Mordokai returned to his tent, he found Turtle's chains on the bed, holding down a scrap of parchment. It only bore two words on it: I'm sorry.

She made her way into the woods, walking slowly and steadily until the sun was high and she could no longer hear the noises of the men, horses, and wagons of the camp. Then she drew her sword, turned it towards herself, and drove it into her gut.

Need some nightmare fuel? To learn more about strappado and other fun torture methods, click here. Because knowing is half the battle!

[Lyinginbedmon]

I haven't checked in here for a while (Largely because the forums have been slow/glitchy as heck), so I've clearly missed some stuff.

For instance, what's up with Flora, Rabbit?

EDIT: And what the heck happened to Mordokai?!

[Mordokai]

Things have... changed

Good work happy, really good, like I've already told so many times before But let it be known public, I adore what you've done with this. I don't think anybody could pull it off much(if at all) better than this.

[RabbitHoleLost]

I haven't checked in here for a while (Largely because the forums have been slow/glitchy as heck), so I've clearly missed some stuff.

For instance, what's up with Flora, Rabbit?

EDIT: And what the heck happened to Mordokai?!

As per our agreement, when Mordokai fell, I redeemed, and I inherited the lovely Flora as my official damsel.

Poor girl v.v

[Reinholdt]

@ Curly- Another good one...

@ Happy- Awww... man. Now Happy... *sniff* I know the rule of plot says if you don't see them dead, they aren't. But I'm real worried about her heading to the dark side.
This cat is so doomed...
Great work Happy.

[Eita]

This is a very scary place.